


Long Way Home

by thatceliachick



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatceliachick/pseuds/thatceliachick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monica Reyes ponders the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2001. Originally posted elsewhere under the pseudonym PegE
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. If I did, we'd all be having a lot more fun.

How many colors are there in the desert?

Dozens, it seems; maybe hundreds. Maybe more. Even tonight, I see   
dozens of shades of gray and black and silver starlight surrounding   
us. The sky is perfectly clear and the stars look close enough to   
touch. After what I've seen, though, I don't find that comforting.   
Suddenly, everything is too close and too far away, all at the same   
time.

John is stretched out on his back and sound asleep. He's not snoring,   
which surprises me, but I'm not complaining. Even in his sleep, he's   
quiet.

I'm too scared to sleep, so I sit here in the chair and stare out the   
window. I keep expecting black helicopters to appear from out of   
nowhere. I wish I could see Mulder and Scully again, or Skinner or   
even Kersh.

I wonder if I ever will?

We're not far from the border, I know; tomorrow, we'll cross over and   
drive to my parents' house in Mexico City. We can hide out there for   
a while until we know it's safe to go back to D.C.

I wanted to go back immediately; John talked me out of it. ``We just   
broke a man out of jail, Mon. I think we need a cooling-off period.``

We drove for hours after we left the ruins, turning in circles and   
doubling back to try to lose the choppers. I saw the ruins go up in   
flames and watched the smoke rise in great columns against the sky.   
My grandfather would have looked for symbols in the smoke, portents   
of the future. I didn't have the heart; the only future I dare dream   
of is asleep on a lumpy hotel mattress.

I wonder what he's dreaming of?

After we found Luke's killer, I watched John and Barbara release   
their son's ashes to the sea and the wind and hoped John could find a   
way to release his demons. He held me so tight after letting Luke go   
that I still feel his embrace. He seems less haunted these days. I   
took his hand a few months ago after a case and he smiled at me. He   
knows, and I know.

We belong together. It's taken us so long to come this far, and I had   
hoped we would find our moment somewhere quiet and peaceful,   
somewhere with candlelight and roses. But I can make do with a desert   
wind and the memory of ashes and a cheap hotel. When we're finally in   
each other's arms, we'll finally be home.

We just took the long way.

John stirs and murmurs wordlessly in his sleep, then turns onto his   
side. The clock by the bed says it's 3 a.m., and I'm exhausted. I   
stretch out next to John, moving as carefully as possible so I don't   
wake him, and let my eyes drift shut. Seconds later, I feel his arm   
circle my waist and he pulls me back against his body. His lips brush   
my hair and his fingers intertwine with mine as he murmurs, ``What   
took you so long?``


End file.
